Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Maps

Oh say, say, say
Oh say, say, say
Wait, they don’t love you like I love you
Wait, they don’t love you like I love you

​I went completely quiet. The fish and chips got cold before me, and I looked around me and everywhere else, even my phone, just to avoid making eye contact with her. Her, who held me in her womb and pushed me out in ‘83, and now was just making me furious and sad. No wonder why my relationships with women have been so fucked up since the beginning. And all I’ve ever wanted to do was to help, since as long as I remember. But she never listens. She’s never really seen me. I’m just a fucking puppet and she pulls the strings of my goddamn feelings and my guilt and I simply can’t help but following through like a dumb piece of shit. So I was quiet and devastated and my throat closed up and I couldn’t eat one more bite and my mother just pretended not to notice. We just stayed in silence for a good half hour. “Is this how it ends?” I contemplated, knowing full well that my mother is on the way out. If not her body, at least her mind. She’s showing the early signs of Alzheimer’s and there’s nothing I can fucking do to fix it. And all I want is to love her unconditionally, but she cannot seem to stop being a fucking bitch and blaming everyone else but herself for the number of mistakes and fuck-ups in her choice to being my and my siblings caretaker. Narcissism 101. And in a some years it won’t even matter, because she just won’t be there. Not fully. And I’ve forgiven her, yet cannot stand her at times and feel horrible for doing so. “I want to have children,” I said. “Really? You are not the kind of men who does,” she replied, bluntly as always. Fuck. Some support would be nice for a change, mom. But why do I care so much what she thinks? And I’m eager to going back “home” (my construction of it, at least) to Copenhagen. But this fear of not being able to come back in another three years, or more, and just watching from a distance as my mom decays and fades away, with every passing month and year. “All I want is seeing y’all happy, with a partner” she then said, once my appetite came back and we started chatting again, in that restaurant in Barrio Italia in 35 degrees and sweaty and sunburnt. “But you are such a complicated man,” she then went, as usual. “I wonder why, mother,” I said between my teeth. And again, I do want her to see me happy. And hold my child. And wish that her mind is still functional when the time comes -which I am certain it will- for her to witness me as a father, as a husband. Finally fulfilled. Emotionally, at least. Beating the odds. Changing the family history. And you (yes, each one of you) who I loved; you I thank for coming to this. For walking me through my 20s, for bringing me to Europe, for pushing me to find and love myself. You loved me the way nobody could. And I loved you like no one else will. We can both be thankful and take this knowledge to the last gate we’ll cross, at the end. When our body and/or our minds will leave us for good. Just like my mother’s will, eventually. And we’ll navigate through shit til then without a map. Fucking up some more. And loving again.

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